Something to Worry About
by broodinggavin
Summary: Humorous, light, funny. But not overly fluffy. May turn into an angstfest. I don't know. HermioneSeverus, of course. Plot may be cliche, but hey. Sometimes cliches are better than life's realities.
1. Oh

Something to Worry About

Disclaimer: I don't own, never will own, can only dream of owning Harry Potter or any other affiliates. I'm not making any money from this endeavor; I'm only attempting to alleviate my boredom. 

A/N can be found at the end of each chapter. 

~

All around the world, people are the same. Very little in this world changes. Whether it be love, or war, or something as mundane as choice of bedtime reading material, you can always count on people.

Or so Severus Snape thought.

In all his life, he'd never come across a more annoying person. Never. It wasn't possible. And that made her different. There was no one else on the planet who could make him want to hex himself out of sheer frustration.

No one else but Hermione Jane Granger. 

Yes, he knew her middle name. He'd looked it up in her file. He knew her birthday. He knew that her mother's name was Adelaide and that her father was George. And that she had a sister named Emma. Non-magical. Quite bright though.

She'd first showed signs of magical ability in the cradle. And it had most definitely cemented itself at the age of five, when she accidentally started a kitchen fire from a temper tantrum.

Oh yes, he knew almost everything about her. 

But for the love of God, he did not want to know why her hand was waving frantically in the air.

"Yes Miss Granger?" He said it with snappish sarcasm, but inwardly, he cringed. What now? What question did he not want to answer today?

She put her frantically waving arm to rest and pointed at the blackboard. "Sir? Are you sure about the directions on line five? It says in the text that mixing powdered Aberfoyle with iron filings in this kind of mixture could cause an-"

BOOM.

Neville Longbottom.

Go figure.

He winced, eyes shut. Then opened them slowly, suddenly afraid.

"I'm okay!"

A whooshing sigh of relief escaped his lips. Hermione Granger blinked a few times, staring at the mess of Longbottom's former cauldron. This one hadn't melted. Oph no, this one had disintegrated. A soot-faced Neville blinked owlishly. "I'm okay," he repeated.

"Evanesco." He said it tiredly, proof of his irritation. The disaster of ingredients that laid around Longbottom in a ten-foot radius disappeared, and a muttered "Reparo" charm put the powdered cauldron back to rights. 

"I was going to say, before I was so rudely interrupted by Longbottom's explosion, that had the brewer treated the Aberfoyle with Hippogriff saliva as instructed on page nine hundred twelve, the explosive effect would have been negated. Longbottom, get out. Class, finish your draughts, bottle them and leave them on my desk, and then dismiss yourselves."

Thirteen pairs of eyes stared blankly at his retreating back as he walked to his office and slammed the door behind him. 

He was wrong. That idiot Longbottom was every bit as maddening as Granger. But on an entirely different scale. How the boy had gotten into his N.E.W.T.s level Potions class, the man would never know. He'd begged an pleaded with Albus not to let the boy in, but his scores had somehow been worthy. 

Severus plopped into his desk chair and threw his arm over his eyes. It was just one of those days. Sighing, he rummaged around in his bottom desk drawer until his hand closed over what he was looking for. Old Faithful.

The bottle of scotch uncorked with a muffled thunk. He admired the amber liquid in the bottle, then took a swig. If there was one thing in this world that Muggles excelled at, it was the making of spirits. The slow, sweet burn of twenty year old Glenlivet burned its way to his gut. No Ogden's here. Only the best. 

A knock on his office door made him groan yet again.

"Go away."

Hermione Granger poked her head through the door. 

"Professor, are you all right?" 

"No," he growled, staring at her. "I said go away, Miss Granger. I meant it."

"Actually, sir, I wanted to ask you something." She barreled on. His mouth was open at her audacity. 

"You are being disrespectful to a professor. Twenty points from Gryffindor."

"You see, sir, I've noticed that you seem tired lately. I know that you're under a lot of stress and-"

He cut her off. "Get to the point or I'll Stun you and throw you out on your arse."

She stomped her foot in frustration. "Professor Snape! Kindly let me finish!" 

When he said nothing, she continued.

"Do you need an assistant?"

~

A/N: Ha! My first posted work of fanfic. Have been reading for years, but am just getting around to working on my own. Accepting of constructive criticism, but flames will be used to light a fire under your arse. Got it? Good.

/Gavin\

:o) 


	2. Agreements

Something to Worry About

Disclaimer: I didn't own them before. Don't now. Go figure.

A/N: See end of chapter.

~

"Do I need a what?!" He asked.

"I asked, Professor, whether you needed an assistant." Her expression was one of exasperation. He stared, looked at the bottle, then looked back at her.

"Am I pissed?" he asked curiously, to no one in particular.

Hermione shut the door behind her, closing it tightly. She plopped down across from him in much the same way he had earlier. "You haven't been alone long enough to get pissed."

"Oh. That makes sense."

She was quiet.

He thought about it. His responsibilities were most definitely enough to warrant an assistant. 

"Did Albus put you up to this?"

"What?"

He looked at her appraisingly. "Did that batty old fruitcake put you up to this? Is this some joke?"

"God, Snape, pull the stick out of your arse for two minutes, will you?! I saw you yesterday after your second-year class."

"And?" he asked defensively. 

Her eyes widened. "I didn't know if you were asleep or dead at your desk. How much sleep are you getting, Professor?"

Not enough. "That's none of your concern. Why do you care, anyway, Granger?"

She sighed. Because I'm a sucker for hopeless causes. "Because it's not like you to act this way. Is it getting worse?"

"I told you, my activities are none of your concern!"

"They most certainly are when they put the Order in danger!" she countered. Angered, she continued. "I can guarantee that if I've noticed an aberration in your behavior, a junior Death Eater has. What if Draco were to tell Dear Old Dad that Professor Snape is cracking under the strain?!"

He sobered. She was right of course. But he'd never tell her that.

*

"Miss Granger, I told you to _mince_ that gingerroot, not dice! Do you not know the difference or are you just hard of hearing?" 

It had been two weeks. And she was ready to kill him. To just choke the life out of him and then use various body parts in Dark Potions. Powder his fingernail, mash his eyeballs, flay his-

Wait. Don't go there. That's _way_ too personal. 

She veritably growled as he insulted her. 

With a renewed vigor, she _minced_ her gingerroot; practically paper thin. She shot him a withering look that would have made Voldemort wince and cringe. He didn't notice.

When she was finished, she continued on to the next task: grinding laurel into a fine powder. After three minutes, she heard a huff from behind her. 

"You're not grinding that fine enough!"

That was it. 

"FINE!" She slammed the mortar and pestle down with a resounding crash and whirled to face him. Steam practically curled from her ears.

"If you're so damned intent on perfection, you should bloody well do it yourself, you great bloody BAT!"

"Miss Granger! You will not speak to me in such a manner!"

She stepped forward until she was nose-to-nose with her professor. "WELL THEN GIVE ME A BLOODY BREAK OR YOU CAN BLOODY WELL SOD THE BLOODY HELL OFF!" she bellowed.

He blinked. No one had ever _bellowed_ at him before. Except for his mother. And father. And Minerva, once… but that was a total misunderstanding. And she was drunk… But back to the fact that Hermione Granger was nose-to-nose with him. And she had the most appealing facial features.

Without thinking, he bent his face to hers and kissed her. She froze. He broke away in surprise. Had he just-? Had he just kissed Hermione? Had he just kissed a student? His best student? His assistant?

She stared at him, still frozen.

"M-Miss Granger, I-"

He never finished. 

Mostly because she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. 

~

A/N: I know, short, but I wanted the cliffhanger… And it's only chapter two.

Thanks to my reviewers, more soon. :o)

/Gavin\


	3. Decisions, Decisions, Decisions

Something to Worry About

Disclaimer: What makes you think I own them? Get royalties for them? Have anything but _hopes_ of _ever_ having them?! Sheesh….

A/N: See end of chapter.

~

It had been a long time since anyone had kissed him of their own free will. It felt good. No. Scratch that. It felt really good.

And this wasn't just a kiss. Or kissing. No. This was no-holds-barred snogging. That's right, snogging. 

Not ordinary snogging, even. This was lips and teeth and tongues all over each other kind of snogging. 

And she of the ever-bushy hair and explosive demeanor was snogging him against a wall. How they got there, he didn't remember. He didn't really care. 

Her bum was clamped in his hands and he wanted it to stay there. Nice and soft. Just right for his palms. And he had found in his extensive investigation of the last twenty minutes that Hermione Granger was quite pleasantly plump in all of the right places. Who wanted a twig of a girl when you could have a voluptuous, curvy, sexy-

STUDENT!

He broke the kiss for the second time, pushing away the woman in his arms. No, not woman. Student. She was a student. His student. His assistant. This was wrong. Wrong-

"What's wrong?" she asked softly. Disappointment was stamped on her face. "Is it me? Is it some-"

He cut her off. "It's not you," he answered. "Well, it is, but it's not something you did."

"Then, what?" She looked somewhere between confused and relieved.

He took her hand in his, rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. "You're a student. I'm your professor. It's not ethical."

"You're worried about professional ethics?"

"Yes. Even as an asset to the Order, Dumbledore still wouldn't hesitate to throw me out on my arse for getting involved with a student."

She thought about it, looking down at her fingers entwined with his. "I should probably go then." 

"I think you should."

Disillusioned, she released herself from his grasp and took a few steps back. He averted his gaze as she tidied her appearance and picked up her schoolbag. "I'm still going to assist you, though, Professor." She looked him right in the eye.

"I don't think that that-"

She got close to him again. "Professor. Severus? Whether or not there are issues between us, you still need my help. Okay? I'm not going to tell anyone what just happened. It's between us."

He nodded. 

She had just opened the door when he called her name. "Miss Granger?"

"Yes sir?"

"Be on time tomorrow."

She grinned. "Yes, Professor."

*

Ron nudged her, exasperated. "Honestly, Hermione, aren't you listening?"

"Huh? Oh, sorry Ron. I didn't mean to… I was drifting away… What was the question?"

Ron looked at her, incredulous. "I asked you if you could help me study for the Potions test next Tuesday. Really, you've been on another planet for the last two days."

"Study tonight? I can't help you. I'm doing something else."

Both Harry and Ron looked crestfallen.

Ginny piped up from beside Harry. "You know, Hannah Abbot is in your Potions class, right? I heard she's top notch. You could ask her to tutor you during lunch." 

Harry perked up, sending a look to the blonde Hufflepuff. He'd ask her as they left the Hall. But for now he would get back to his eggs and sausage.

Hermione sighed internally, and reached for the platter of breakfast croissants in front of her. She'd spent the last few days mulling over "The Incident" with the Professor. They'd not spoken about it, but the tension when they were alone was practically tangible.

You could cut it with a knife.

A butter knife.

A spoon.

She closed her eyes and was tempted to let her head crash into the table before her. 

*

She was wandering in Transfiguration, too. So much so that McGonagal, in the middle of Hermione's daydream, snapped her fingers under the girl's nose, unable to otherwise get her attention.

"See me after class," the older woman said shortly.

Hermione, properly chastised, went back to her transfigurations. 

McGonagal dismissed the class soon after, then took a seat at her desk and motioned Hermione to an extra chair, summoned from her office. Minerva rubbed her eyes tiredly beneath her glasses.

"What's bothering you, Hermione?"

Rarely had her professor been so familiar with her. Hermione fidgeted in her seat. "I don't know what you mean, Professor."

"Bollocks, girl. In all the years I've taught you, you've never been so unfocused. What's going on?"

"I- I don't want to talk about it. It's a private matter."

Minerva thought a moment before speaking. "Hermione, you know that you can talk to me whenever you want. Come to me when you're ready."

Hermione nodded, eyes averted. "Professor?"

"Yes?"

"If I tell you part of it, will it go any further than this room?"

McGonagal was taken aback. How bad was this problem? "I swear a wizard's oath."

"Okay. Here goes." Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she started. "I've got a problem. I have feelings for someone I shouldn't."

When she didn't go any finish, McGonagal spoke up. "That doesn't sound so bad. Who?"

Hermione's eyes widened. "I can't tell you that. But tell me- what would you do if you had feelings for someone, and they had feelings for you, but you shouldn't be together?"

Minerva looked straight into her student's eyes. "That depends on who it was, but in most cases, I'd throw caution to the winds and go for him."

Hermione smiled for the first time in two days. "Thanks."

She walked out feeling better about everything.

She walked out with a mission.

~

A/N: Many, many thanks to those who have reviewed this young fic both on WIKTT, here at ff.net, and in private e-mails. You guys so rock!

/Gavin\


	4. So It Begins

Something to Worry About

Disclaimer: Pretty standard, after all. If I owned it, I wouldn't be writing fan fiction, now would I?

A/N: Same as before, see end of chapter.

~

It was inevitable that Hermione Granger would research a subject to death if she was at all interested in it. In fact, she had done so when she didn't quite care. But this was different. She had to know the things that made HIM tick. Otherwise her whole plan would go to hell in a hand basket. 

Unfortunately, it was the one place that she couldn't find anything about him at all that she wound up studying him the most:

The library.

Stalking was not on Hermione's list of things she would ever admit to doing. However, she was not totally above it. 

She peered at him through the bookshelves in an attempt to investigate the Potions Master while he researched in the library. Anyone noticing her would have thought nothing more than that she was searching for an elusive book title. That is, until he spoke.

"Miss Granger, you are incredibly bad at spying. Come out from behind there and tell me exactly why you have been following me like some half-wit Ministry Auror.

She wilted like a flower under his words and dragged herself sheepishly from her hiding spot. He turned his head to look at her. 

"Come with me," he stated only loud enough for her to hear him. Taking his time, he gathered various books and parchments and ink, tucking his wand up his sleeve, and headed out the door. She followed him, barely keeping up with his long-legged stride. She knew where they were headed as soon as they took the second set of stairs on the left past the Great Hall. Down, down, down the dungeon steps they trekked, and she followed him obediently. His gait didn't slow until they'd reached the door to his classroom. He unlocked it with a swish of his wand; if he said a password , she never heard it. 

She'd continued to assist him in this classroom for the last week, although conversation and manner had been strained.

"In," he said, holding open the heavy oak door, an expectant look on his face. She did as instructed, waiting for him to close the door. 

"Sit."

She sat, taking the first chair by the door. He leaned back against it, staring at her as if waiting for an explanation. 

She didn't give him one. 

"I thought we talked about this." 

She looked at the floor. 

She looked at the scarred, burned surface of the desk in front of her. 

She looked at anything and everything but him.

"Look at me when I speak to you, girl."

She looked at his buttons.

"I said, look at me," he growled.

She looked into his eyes. In the unlit classroom, half of his face was hidden by shadow, but his jaw was set tightly; he was barely controlling anger. His eyes glinted darkly. She suddenly felt ashamed; her eyes flooded with tears. She blinked then away maddeningly.

"I thought we talked about this," he repeated. 

"W-we did, I suppose."

"Then why won't you let it go? Damn it girl, you're my student and I won't get involved." He stomped to his desk and began shuffling papers in an attempt to look busy. He set the library books down on his desk chair. 

"There isn't any rule against it." She said it so softly he almost didn't hear her.

"What?" 

"I'm of age, and there isn't any rule against a student-teacher relationship if the student is legally of age."

He gaped at her. Had she even thought through what she was saying? 

He softened; even though she kept trying to hide them, he could see the tears threatening to spill over; damn it, he didn't want her to start crying. 

"Miss Granger, do you understand the severity of the consequences should Voldemort find out? You and your family are already targets. Being the paramour of a Death Eater isn't a really good idea. I suggest you think about this and head back to your dormitory. It is, after all, ten minutes to curfew, and I don't really want to take house points from you.'

She stood as she had a week ago, one hand on the door, face turned toward him as she was leaving.

"Yes, you wouldn't want take points from me, now would you, professor?"

The mocking tone of her voice echoed in the empty dungeon room.

*

It was early the very next morning that the barriers that had protected Hogwarts for centuries began to crack. Death Eaters spilled through the break, wands at the ready.

Voldemort had come to Hogwarts.

And the side of the Light slept soundly in their beds.

~

A/N: Really short chapter in preparation for chapter five. Kind of a filler chapter; did you like the end twist? I have a feeling that the plot bunny haunting me for weeks is going to turn this into a novel-length fic. Next chapter begins the final battle, and it will be a _TOTAL_ angst-fest.

Thanks to all of my reviewers; you inspire me.


	5. Points of View

Something to Worry About

Disclaimer: If you honestly think I own Harry Potter, you should check yourself into St. Mungo's. No really, you should. I hear the jello there is excellent.

See A/N at bottom of page.

Hermione woke when a cold hand slapped over her mouth, none too gently keeping her quiet. Her eyelids flew open, and she jerked reflexively for her wand. The figure's face came into view an instant before she hexed them.

Harry.

What the hell? 

The finger he pressed to her lips kept her from asking him what was going on; he pointed to the sleeping figures of her roommates. She nodded in understanding. He pointed outside, toward the lake, and she chanced a glance before they woke the other two girls. She could see only darkness, then a few huddled shadows. Her eyes widened.

Lavender and Parvati, as dippy as they could be at times, understood instantly, rolling for their wands and clothing.

In the minutes that followed, the future of the wizarding world changed forever.

Voldemort smiled in glee as he sensed the boy awaken from slumber, the frantic rush, then the cold calm that followed. The boy wouldn't have the chance to alert Dumbledore before he came. It was a perfect plan.

Snape woke screaming, the Dark Mark blazing white against his skin. The pain seized him, cramping his muscles until tendons stood out in strain on his arms and legs; his back arched so hard the vertebrae cracked and popped. He knew.

Voldemort was here. And he had not been called.

Gryffindors fourth year and above were gathered in the common room. Harry and Hermione had locked the remaining younger students into their dormitories, making sure they were as safe as possible for the ensuing fight. The young warriors bolted out of the portrait hole, gathering in ranks as they had prepared, and marched determinedly down, down, toward the Great Hall. Four messengers were sent out, one to each remaining house and one to alert the faculty.

Hermione smiled grimly at her comrades in arms; if they died tonight, they died fighting.

When the Army of Voldemort invaded the castle, the Army of Hogwarts was waiting for them.

Bloody. If there was one word to describe the final battle, it would be bloody.

Death Eaters had blown the doors to Hogwarts off their hinges; splinters were later found forty meters from the entrance, embedded in stone. Immediately, hexes and curses and jinxes had flown, in a rainbow blaze of light and sparkles. Hermione would never forget the faces of some of her friends that night; grim, frightened, determined not to show it. Wands were at the ready. And when they'd heard the doors go, Minerva McGonagall had spoken in a horrible whisper:

"Give them everything you've got; don't blink."

And they'd fought, screaming and rushing and dodging the curses that meant death and pain. The followers of Voldemort didn't play with such toys as Jelly-Legs and Leg-Lockers. Oh no, Unforgivables were their choice. Hermione had once made a promise to herself. Never would she use an Unforgivable. Not ever.

When she came nose-to-nose with Bellatrix Lestrange, she never hesitated. "Avada Kedavra!" she'd screamed, before the bitch had the chance to cast first.

The woman responsible for the death of Sirius Black and the loss of Frank and Alice Longbottom was gone. Good riddance.

She fought hard and without mercy, side-by-side with Draco Malfoy. She took her share of hexes as she dished them out; more than one burn and broken bone would need to be fixed when this was over. If she made it to the end.

She'd been separated from Harry and Ron when she'd chased a Death Eater down a dungeon corridor. She wasn't taking any chances.

She slowed down when she finally realized where this one was going. Quickly, she turned down a side corridor that ended in a dead end. Or so it appeared. During her sixth year, she'd been looking for a way to escape the jeering of Malfoy and his cronies. Hiding in the hall, she'd leaned breathless against a section of cold stone. Or rather, leaned until she'd fallen through it. It was a mirage, a secret hallway down into the dungeons.

She arrived before the Death Eater did, waiting for him to get in range of a good Petrificus. He burst through the door of Snape's chambers an instant before she'd gotten the chance.

Crossing herself and hoping that she'd make it through, she rushed after him.

"LUNA! WHERE'S HERMIONE?" Harry had to shout to be heard by the girl watching his back.

"I DON'T KNOW. I SAW HER RUN OFF A WHILE AGO!"

"RUN OFF?"

"CHASING - oof! - CHASING SOMEONE!"

He never had the chance to go after her as a second wave of Death Eaters swarmed upon them.

Lucius Malfoy slipped into the room with a satisfied smirk. He was going to deliver the traitor to his master on a silver platter.

Stupid, Severus, betraying the Dark Lord. Very stupid. 

The dark man was stretched out across his bed, body seized in agony. Steam curled in thin wisps from his left arm. His skin was reddening from strain and his hands were fisted in the sheets. Sweat had soaked his fine black hair and it lay in lank strings against his face and on his pillow. Tears streamed from his eyes and disappeared into the hairline at his temples.

It was the Cruciatus, and more. It delayed the pain from damaging the brain, as Crucio would, making the bodily torture last longer, become more intense.

Serves you right, you dog. You don't have the right to lick the Master's boot anymore. 

A muffled cry came from behind him, and he turned too late to fully dodge the Stunning Spell she'd tossed at him. His wand dropped to floor, and he was stuck in the half-lunge position he'd been in. She raised her wand again, putting the blonde in a full body bind, watching as his arms and legs flew together, and he hit the floor with a muted thud.

She stepped over the prone body of Lucius Malfoy, hastening to Snape's side. Quickly, she ran a list through her mind of everything she knew of the Dark Mark and its effects; it wasn't much.

"Finite Incantatem!" she spoke clearly, hoping it would work.

Nothing happened.

Dumbledore cast spell after spell, everything he could think of to both protect his students and take care of the enemy. He could feel the tide turn against his students; there weren't enough with experience to fight them. He could hear them all around, screaming in anger, in casting, in death.

He would die if it would save the children.

Voldemort faced his nemesis, a look of pure calm on his features. Gone was the slit nose and red eyes of three years ago. Now he was Tom Riddle again. Flesh and bone and blood, filled to the brim with the everlasting need to kill Harry Potter.

The boy faced him with the same calm face. A smear of blood graced his left cheek. His glasses were broken, and his hair was in wild disarray.

Potter. 

Riddle. 

Ready to die, boy? 

If I die killing you, then yes. 

Perhaps today is a good day to die, then. 

Perhaps. 

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

It was in unison and with equal power that the curse was cast by both men. For the second time, the golden nimbus of light surrounded them, connecting them in body and wand. Time slowed around them, the battle raging on without them.

I should have told them I loved them. 

Silly boy, did you think you could defeat me? 

I should have told them all I loved them. 

I will win, and I will kill you! 

I should have said goodbye. 

In a moment of absolute clarity, Harry Potter chose. The nimbus broke, exploding out in a force unparalleled in any way, and the Dark Lord flew back, back, into the far stone wall of the Great Hall. His body impacted the stone no less than a foot below the great Hogwarts Crest, leaving a bloody, smeared trail as it slid, the body going down in a heap. The Boy Who Vanquished lowered his wand, crumpling to the ground.

A/N: And you thought I'd abandoned it. Okay, so four months is a _long_ time between updates, but I had to put aside writing for a while, all right? I still love you guys, and if you're good, I may just send you chocolate chip cookies. (Homemade, of course.)


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